Perhaps..

Jester on Fire

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 24/08/2008
Last Updated: 24/08/2008
Status: in_progress

As I sit there, surrounded by flames, I ponder on the deep ironies that emblazon my life. I wonder if the Daily Prophet is proud it was right, that I am ‘off my rocker’ so to speak. Irony is my only companion now. Well, irony and him. Inspired by cosmopolitan411's Buried

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

[A/N: This is a fic I wrote after having read Buried by cosmopolitan411 and u should read it to understand this one. I hope you like it!]

As I sit there, surrounded by flames, I ponder on the deep ironies that emblazon my life. I wonder if the Daily Prophet is proud it was right, that I am `off my rocker' so to speak. Irony is my only companion now. Well, irony and him.

I sacrificed my innocence, my seventh year, my friends' seventh year, we toiled and sweat and bled and fought, all for freedom and happiness promised. And I, who naively thought I would be able to enjoy it like everyone else, find myself having to make the ultimate sacrifice. Why have I always been denied happiness? Why must I always pay for the happiness of others?

It angers me that-

No. I must not get mad. That's his opportunity to come out, and I can't let that happen. I let out a deep breath and calm myself. How useful this skill would have been in fifth year. Molly and Ginny have already paid the price for my stupidity.

:They deserved it… The thought traverses me like a steely whisper, slithering through my mind, and the suggestion that one day I may not be able to recognise its origin sends a chill through me that one would think impossible in the midst of this conflagration.

The heat will start to get unbearable eventually , but this is necessary. I've always sacrificed myself for others, why stop now?

:Is it enough, though? Were it not for the sardonic edge to the thought, I would have mistaken it for my own. I can only hope that this last ditch attempt will be enough.

Hope. What was left in Pandora's box, after all the evils had come out. What a meek companion made to balance it all out. But I admit, there is strength in hope, I remember.

I used to hope this would end. I used to hope I could control it, or that I could exorcise it. I searched everywhere. There is not a magical library in England that I haven't read through completely. I can name every volume of the Restricted Section of Hogwarts. I daresay I know more about the Dark Arts than any wizard alive. So if I can't find a way, then no one can.

This arrogance is new to me.

I kept telling myself it was foolish; but what is hope if not foolish? I told myself I could conquer him like I had already seven times. If I could, then I could go back to her, I could finish what I started, mend what I had so utterly damaged, and-

:And what?

Indeed, I know now that the prospect is bleak. She hates me. Hermione hates me. And I have only myself to blame, only my anger to justify my acts. After five years without having seen her, I thought I would have forgotten her face. But it's all I care to remember now. She was my saving grace, my first and only love. But it wasn't enough. Fate wasn't done wiping.

I know that none of them even imagine the scope of my magic. I knew it straight away when she was surprised I had appeared in the seat in front of her without her having noticed. Because she couldn't have noticed. I control magic on such a level that intention is all that I need. Hogwarts doesn't make us understand the actual power of intention. But perhaps it is better, because not all spells are fuelled by good or neutral intention, and it is easy to get lost in the darkness where the abyss stares back. I should know.

All I have to do is want to not be noticed, and it is done. Not a soul noticed me as I walked through the restaurant to my seat, just as I wanted.

:My will be done.

Sitting in front of her, I was hit with the memories of the happiest times of my life, though it's not actually saying much. And I was struck by how much I had changed. Except for one thing, and I clung to it as a shipwreck survivor clings to any piece of rafting he can. My love for her.

I must have come off a blubbering idiot, saying I loved her every second phrase. But it is the only part of me I know is still the same, is still just Harry. And I didn't want to show her anything else, because she had always loved just Harry and not any other image I had been given. She deserves so much more. I hope Ron will be up to the task.

:Fool. I don't know if he means my ex-best-friend or if he means me for thinking Ron could actually fulfil Hermione's needs.

He was always in my shadow, and he always will be in my shadow. A sick pleasure pools in my stomach at the thought of his perpetual inaptitude, and I don't believe I can't claim ownership of some of it. After all, he gets the girl in the end, the useless prat.

I can tell my anger's getting the best of me, and his influence is bleeding through.

:I should have killed them all. Just as none of them know the extent of my power, they all were blissfully unaware of how easily I could have ended their existence, those `Elite Aurors'. An oxymoron if ever there was one. So unorganised, pitiful, I could have picked them off one by one with such ease it's not even funny.

:Well, maybe a little.

A charge surges through me and sparks through my hands as Voldemort tries for control, but I'm nowhere near angry enough for him to wrestle the reins of my body from me. However, it does make me realise the danger towards which this train of thought is leading me.

Soon this will all be over. Soon I will be consumed by the flames just as the whole room has been. The heat is stifling, it almost smothers me. The smoke stings my eyes. Soon, my mockery of an existence will end.

I hope, as always, that Hermione realises this is for the best. For the greater good. I hope that she believed me when I said I loved her, and I wish she knew how hard it was for me to leave her at the altar. I wonder what she'll think when she knows I'm dead.

Now my skin starts going red, the legs of the armchair I'm in are ablaze, and the edge of my robe is burning away. I almost revel in it, knowing that it means salvation is upon me. I hear the sound of wood breaking and look up, seeing a part of the ceiling breaking off and falling towards me.

And then, a sensation I have felt too many times not to know what it entails engulfs me. Everything around me slows but for a second, and I am aware of every single thing around me. I feel I am even aware of my dual presence. I feel the involuntary fear inside me at the sight of my looming death, and I disappear.

I reappear near the edge of the lake at Hogwarts, under the tree where I proposed to Hermione.

Why? WHY?! Rage nearly consumes me as I realise my magic has saved me. Like an impartial failsafe built into me, my own essence won't let me die. I quickly accept it because I know that if I don't, he will have his opening, and I don't care to think about what would happen then.

So, now I know I cannot end it myself.

I am forced to endure this hell. As I sit here and consider why I was transported to this of all places, I remember the day I proposed. She was babbling about how an internship in Germany would be fascinating, how she was sure there was knowledge in other countries that would baffle even Dumbledore. And I just held out my hands, one of them holding a ring, and asked her. I had waited until sunset, and I have never seen her more beautiful than in that moment when she said yes.

I almost smile at the memory, and now that I am faced with a long and sad existence, I look to the horizon, sort of. Maybe Hermione was right? Perhaps there is vaster knowledge of magic abroad. Perhaps, there is still hope….

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